Who's to Blame?
Miranda Jabs is freshly back from her daily walk down on the surface of Etti. It was like her usual walks, except for the horrific traffic accident that happened right in front of her. Well, technically it was moving away from her and did not interrupt her schedule. It was not her job to tend to the injured of the world. Probably a drunk coming back from a bad day at the stock market. These things did happen. She even arrived back on schedule, but then, of course she did. She is Miranda Jabs, after all. She is standing under a cooling vent, removing her floppy hat when her intercom buzzes. "Gentleman to see you, ma'am. No appointment. Says it's urgent. Should I buzz him in?" Miranda gives a look of great annoyance the comlink on her desk, but finally sighs heavily, sits down at her desk, and says, "Yes. If it's a crazy person, you will regret it." A few moments later, a somewhat forceful knock is heard at the door, as though made by something much harder than a fist. Without waiting to be acknowledged, Smitherbodkins barges into the room. His hat and gloves are off...perhaps a symbolic gesture? Of course, he's never without his cane, and especially not after the events of the past few weeks. His eyes search the room before they fall on Jabs, and he wastes no time. "Ms. Jabs. Forgive me for intruding; I know how busy you are." He strides toward her, his face a mask of composure, though something bubbles just below the surface, something that only decades of practice schooling his emotions can cover. "We have a serious problem." The verpine female sitting at the front desk follows Smitherbodkins into the room. "I'm sorry, he pushed past me," she begs, apparently assuming that Smitherbodkins is indeed, a crazy person. "It's fine," Miranda says, taking note of her esteemed guest. "Out." This is directed at the verpine. She then holds up one hand in a "one moment" sort of gesture and pushes several buttons under her desk. A field pops up not unlike the one Smitherbodkins had employed at his own showroom. "Now we can talk." She straightens a few stacks of papers on her desk, even though they did not look crooked to begin with. "I assume this has something to do with what I told you the other day. I would say it is _you_ who have a serious problem." She smiles thinly. "What happened?" Smitherbodkins waves away her comment, paying no attention to the Verpine following him except to step away slightly. Strange, because he has never been seen to be actively prejudiced against any alien...condescending, yes, but never disgusted. Perhaps he's just had enough of Verpines for the day. Instead, he makes his way over to one of the cabinets, opening it and removing the bottle that he knows she keeps there. Taking a glass, he pours himself a healthy amount of the amber liquid within, taking a long drink from his glass to settle his nerves. "It is bigger than that now, Ms. Jabs. He is out of control." He turns around to face her, barely managing to get the words out, jaw clenching with the force of his emotion. "The snowstorm, this week? That little stunt was pulled by an associate of his. As you know, it threw off the climate control and delayed several shipments of CSA goods. And not just mine." The knuckles on his hand on the glass turn from red to white as he clenches it. "Today, this associate took it upon himself to control my speeder and send me on a merry ride through the city, nearly causing several accidents. It is not about me anymore, Ms. Jabs. This is affecting business. This is affecting Etti IV." Miranda had spent the day on the space station the day of the snowstorm, missing her daily walk not because the weather was too dreary on the surface but because she had been dealing with the shipping problems it created. FoxTech profits took a hit from the snowstorm. Jabs folds her hands on the desk, giving Mr. Smitherbodkins a hard look. "That," she says, "Is unacceptable. Have you contacted security?" "I just contacted Dibble," Smitherbodkins replies, leaning on his cane as he regards her, making sure that she is taking note of the significance of their predicament. "I gave him the information. They're pulling the data from my speeder's computer right now, to see if they can trace the program he used to take it over. But this being is good, Ms. Jabs. He's very good." One eyebrow raises, and he gives her a rather significant look, "And a Verpine, incidentally." His tone is flat; if he assumes that she's somehow connected to this because of the species of the instigator, he doesn't say it. With words. Instead, he takes another sip from his glass, letting out a contented sigh that's at odds with his overall demeanor, "This is excellent, by the way."